Highway Robbery

A rusty blue Cadillac rolled around the blind corner spitting and wheezing. It stopped a few feet from where a bearded sprite sat on his haunches holding a Stop sign. The red of the sign matched the color of the sprite’s blazer and tam combo.

“Good afternoon…um…whatever you are,” the heavyset driver said, cranking down the window. He looked around at the fall trees dressed in various shades of red and yellow and green, took a hankie out, and wiped his brow. “Gets pretty humid here.”

“Yes, sir,” the sprite replied. “It’ll be better once spring arrives.”

“Do you have a name?” the driver asked.

“Flash.”

“Flash? But aren’t you a…um…?”

“Sprite. And proud of it,” Flash said.

“Well, I better be going. I’m already late for a business retreat.”

“Nice meeting you,” Flash replied. “That’ll be $98.38.”

“Say what?” 

“This is a toll road. You have to pay to use it. Plus, all the monies collected go to a fund to save the forest,” Flash said, his fingers crossed behind his back.

“That’s highway robbery, and besides, I don’t give a damn about the forest.” 

“More like country road robbery.” the sprite said, straight-faced. “And you should care. The trees are beneficial in many ways.

“Well, I’m not paying,” the man said, reaching for the gear shift.

“Before you go, there’s something you need to know.” Flash lowered the sign and pointed to the front of the vehicle. “While you and I were chatting, Miranda, my wife, cuddled up against a front tire for a nap. My son Junior did the same in the back.” Flash held out his hands, palms up and hunched his shoulders. “You wouldn’t want to deprive a son of his mother, or a mother her only child.”

“I don’t have that much cash on me,” the man said, revving the engine in warning.

“We also take credit and bank transfers.”

“Oh, all right,” the man said, a scowl outlining his face. He took out his wallet and handed over five twenties. “Keep the change,” the man said, giving Flash the finger.

Flash smiled in return and waved goodbye.

Later, Miranda rested her head against Flash's shoulder. “You know how I get horny when you score like that.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Maybe you could send Junior on an errand,” she said, a finger meandering lazily down his torso.

“Junior,” Flash yelled. “I need you to run an errand.”

“Again?” Junior replied.

The Accidental Suicide

First published at Short-Story.me.

Whack!

Jessica swings the axe and curses Wendy, her thirteen year old daughter. She’s in her room sulking, as usual. An annoying noise she calls music escapes to the backyard where Jessica continues her therapy.

Whack!

She takes another swing, this one for ten-year-old Albert, who continues to whine about not getting the right baseball mitt for his birthday. He’s not a catcher. What do I know about baseball? His dad goes to the games. He’s the one who bought the glove. “A guy thing,” he said.

Whack!

Speaking of . . . Jack's no angel, moping around the house all weekend complaining he’s bored. Jessica offered him a to do list to help fill in his time. 1. Rake the leaves. 2. Mow the lawn. 3. Plug the hole in the fence so our terrier Frankie doesn’t sneak out and bring home a new friend, or worse friends. 

“I just remembered,” Jack says and trots out the door to meet up with Max, his high school buddy, for a beer. So much for his husband of the year trophy.

Whack!

Jessica's never swung an axe before. She didn’t know they owned one until she went to get a rake. It is a great way to rid one’s mind of negativity. Much better than raking leaves.

“Mom, ” Wendy yells from her bedroom window. “Mr. Roberts called. He said he’s coming over to help and that you shouldn’t do anymore chopping until he gets here. He said you’re doing it wrong.”

Whack!

What could that old buttinsky want? 

Whack!

Jessica takes one more swing, moves a few paces away, and hears a loud prolonged groan as the tree falls in the opposite direction she thought it would.

The Wedding’s Off

First published in Bright Flash Fiction Literary Review

Spring was Ella’s favorite time. The birds returned from their winter vacation, filling the air with music, while colorful foliage blossomed in barren trees. But this year was different. This year her wedding occupied every minute of free time. Sometimes more, depending on what crusade her mother was on to make everything perfect. Today was the caterer’s turn for last minute instructions.

“Hey, Mom,” Ella said, looking at her watch. “I’m going to the church to make sure everything’s set for tonight’s rehearsal.”

“Okay, Hon, I’ll be over shortly.”

“No hurry. Take your time.” Please.

Ella arrived early for her appointment with the minister. She smelled it first, then saw the smoke coming from behind the church.

She parked along the street, so as not to block the fire truck. Sirens announced their impending arrival. She raced down the driveway and saw someone in a dark hoodie and jeans run into the woods.

Ella followed not thinking about what might happen next.

Ahead she saw the person look back and trip on an exposed root. Ella reached the arsonist, pulled off the hoodie, and was surprised to see someone she thought she knew.

“Andrea?” Ella said to her Maid of Honor. “What are you doing?”

“Stopping your wedding. I hope.” Andrea tried to get up. Ella pushed her down, anger spreading through her limbs like an unattended wildfire.

“I…I thought we were friends. Why would you want to stop it?”

“Because I saw Tom first. I’m the one who introduced you two. Remember? I should be the one getting married.”

Ella sat for a long time, watching the branches waltz in the treetops. Finally, she opened the top buttons of her blouse, turned so her back faced Andrea, and exposed the belt lashes inflicted when Tom arrived home early last night and dinner wasn’t ready.

Pulling off her engagement ring and handing it to Andrea, Ella said “You can have him.” 

Ella walked back to her car with a purpose. She took a few deep breaths, allowing her body to release the tension that had built up over the past weeks. Her suitcase was in the trunk ready for the honeymoon trip. She’d heard Portland was nice this time of year.

---

Jim Harrington lives in Huntersville, NC, with his wife and two dogs. His stories have appeared in The Yard, Short-Story.me, Ariel Chart, Spank The Carp, Flash Fiction Magazine, and others. More of his works can be found at https://jpharrington.blogspot.com.

The One

First published in Free Flash Fiction.

I watch the two of you stroll hand-in-hand around the man-made lake in the center of the park, smiling, laughing, ignoring me. Perfect.

The water in the lake is murky due to last night’s heavy rain. The family of mallards swimming military style don’t appear to care. They make lousy witnesses, anyway.

Thanks to a friendly neighbor in your apartment building, I know your name is Carol. His name doesn’t matter. Does it.

You approach a bench with a seat-back advertisement for Siegfried’s Amusement Park. I wonder if you’ve ever been there. I close my eyes and watch what’s-his-face fall from the top of the Ferris wheel. You look over the edge and scream with him, as do the others watching on. Well, except me.

You point a manicured finger across the lake in my direction. I know it’s manicured. I watched the sandy-haired blonde in the mall kiosk do it. Do you know they closed the mall? It’s going to be a roller skating rink. I wonder if you know how to skate. You do? Perfect.

I wave and smile, binoculars covering my face. You tap who’s it on the shoulder and say something. He holds a hand over his brow and looks my way. He removes his phone and pokes at it. Is he calling 911? I’ll be long gone before the cavalry arrives.

But I’ll be back.

‘Cause you’re Perfect.

In Pursuit

First published in Suddenly and Without Warning (12/2/24)

Robert looked up as the doors closed on the northbound commuter train. He gasped when he recognized a familiar face. Vivian, his wife of twelve years, stood on the platform wearing her favorite red coat. *It can’t be,* he thought. *She disappeared eight months ago*.

He pounded on a window to get her attention, but she kept moving farther away. He reached for the emergency stop cable, missed, and fell. By the time he recovered his balance, it was too late. Too late to stop the train. Too late for him to confront his wife. 

Still shaking, Robert exited the train at the next stop. He looked around like a man lost in the desert. He sped toward the escalator and saw a flash of red near the top. Pushing his way up the crowded stairway to a chorus of jeers, he reached the apex just as Vivian rounded another corner and out of view.

He maneuvered the intersection at top speed, looked ahead, and realized where she was going, St. Patrick’s Presbyterian Church, where they were married. He bolted toward the front steps and saw the wind-blown hem of her coat leading him to the cemetery in back. She stood over a stone, her head bowed.

As Robert neared, he stuck out his hand and grabbed air. There was no one there. 

Exhausted, he sat on a stone bench and looked down at the inscription on the grave facing him.

Robert Lewis Stevens — 1962-1994

Vivian Agustus Stevens — 1964-